Firebane
by Chibi Black Mage Ailen
Summary: The Third War has long passed. A new power is to be brought forth. An unlucky elf has claimed that power. The story of the Fourth War, of the struggles of a caravan of mages and an archer against the blade that is Firebane.


Firebane

Chibi Black Mage Ailen

Prologue: Ode to Legends

Somewhere in the lands of Azeroth, farther north than the now-destroyed Dalaran, lay a plain where, encased in a constant ring of fire, lay an ancient blade, unclaimed for millennia. An ancient power, neither God nor Demon, lay embedded in it. Not crafted by the anger and carefree hands of humans, the brutish hands of the Orcs, the swift, skilled Night Elves, or necromantic Undead, but a force no one knew. It pulsed a hidden power that defied all logic; even the most advanced magicks couldn't even begin to unravel the mystery that was Firebane. However, one Elven warrior would stumble upon it, and for good or for worse, would use it to quell the rebellion of his people. And so the mystery begins…

Akyr Duandin, a lieutenant in the allied nations of Azeroth, stumbled through the northern region of the continent, cursing his luck. Of all people, -he- had been chosen to scout out the area. And he was a lieutenant! It should have been some green warrior, not someone who could be devoted to better use. As he trudged ever onward, he felt the air becoming warmer and warmer. He stopped for a moment, frowning. This wasn't supposed to be a warm region, but moderate in temperature. So why was he suddenly sweating, not from exhaustion and exertion, but from heat? He cautiously made his way over the next hill, only to come into view of the most dazzling thing he had ever seen. A beautiful sword trapped within a ring of fire. Paying no heed to the scattered skeletons around the area-most with burn marks all over the bones-he ran ahead, timing his movements so that he would emerge unscathed. He leapt through the ring and, somehow, grabbed the sword and toppled out the other side, just as the flame roared up, enveloping the altar that had held the sword up until a moment ago. And through the pure chaos he felt and was seeing, a power surged through him, coursed through his body like a raging river. His head finally drew up, now-white eyes staring at the world. He was not blind. The power he held in his hand had just taken over him.

Chapter 1: The Light of Defiance

Former Dalaran 1st Army Commander Korleias Fastflame, an Archmage of great and considerable skill, looked over the ruins of his homeland, tears springing to his eyes as rage, pain, and guilt tore his soul apart. He had gone off with a company from Stromgarde to investigate Orcish movements on the area. What they had found were a bunch of…things. Even thinking of them made the mage's flesh crawl. The Undead Scourge had destroyed most of their forces, but not without heavy losses of their own…losses that were replaced by more and more skeleton soldiers. He winced as he thought of the final battle. They'd attempted a sneak attack on the enemy forces, but an enemy raiding party had taken out their surprise attack and as a result both forces marched toward the other in outrage and annoyance. The human forces had fought fiercely, but then one of their horse-riding Death Knights came, thrusting and buffeting the humans. It had been a complete disaster until Korleias had lost his patience-and temper-and charged into them, hurling bolts of fire left and right. But his intervention hadn't saved his troops. More than four fifths of his people had been slaughtered. Only his quick and heavy blizzard spell was enough to send the enemies into disarray. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he turned. Of an army of 100,000 only somewhere around 15 percent of that remained. A piteous number, really. The defeated look in his eyes faded as a brown-haired mage came near. "Oi, Korleias, we're moving out soon. Coming?" Korleias sighed again, with a small smile, and nodded to the mage. "Of course, Keikeru. I don't have much of a choice in the matter, do I?" A dangerous look passed through Keikeru's eyes, and Korleias flinched. This was one character you did NOT want to piss off. He was definitely a powerful mage, as was appropriate. He was a Spirit Mage, capable of moving between the physical and ethereal planes in a matter of seconds. He had been their savior, destroying the souls of the creatures before the necromancers could use them to resurrect the skeletons. Humans knew necromancy well enough by then, and were only slightly surprised when skeletons came at them. But they also knew how to fight the skeletons, so only a small part of their force was diverted to destroying them. While Keikeru's part in the ethereal plane had been key to averting a complete loss, Korleias wished that he had been in the actual battle. Being able to cast spells of mass destruction were rather useful in a pinch. Especially one. But Korleias had only seen it once, and had been scared to death of both the power it gave off, and the power it took. Keikeru had been ill for almost four months before the effects wore off.

Another shout from Keikeru distracted Korleias from his thoughts, and the Archmage from Dalaran joined his remaining advisors and continued to plan uses for their meager 15,000 troops.

A bloodcurdling scream erupted once more in the courts of Quel'Thalas. The smell of burnt flesh made the air reek, and bitter laughter-and weeping-filled the room. Akyr Duandin stood above the last member of the court of Quel'Thalas, shaking loose the runeblade Firebane. Boiling blood spurted from the wound as tears and howls of laughter came from the man. He hated what he was doing-but he also found a perverse pleasure in it. He didn't know why. His people had been nothing but good to him. So why was he exterminating them? Because the blade had taken possession. The blade was now in control of his thought process. And Akyr guessed that soon enough the sword would control him completely. But there was nothing he could do. The sword would not let him release it. The power was addictive. He thrived on it. And yet he hated it.

"Damnit, Keikeru, where are we now?" Makiru groaned as the caravan of mages-and fifteen thousand men-cut their way through the forests. The Spirit Mage turned and glared at the burly mage who had long mastered the flames. "Quit complaining, Makiru, the location is worth the walk. We're in a forest near Quel'Thalas. We're meeting up with a few elven priests and priestesses so we can get a few things in order. Also, an old friend of mine is there." Catcalls and whistles accompanied the last statement, causing the 19-year old to blush in embarrassment. But it was justified. Though the mages knew each other and liked each other and got along well enough, none were truly Keikeru's friend. So it was a good thing that he had at least someone who he allowed close to him. "So what's her name?" Makiru asked in a sly voice, with half-lidded eyes. Keikeru contemplated punching him, but decided to settle for a light shove, knocking the man back into the small mage Hiyawa Leto. A minor spell was cast that knocked the fire mage into a crate of wine, causing erupting laughter to come from the other mages. "Her name is Razielle Lilithair. An archer of high status. Rumors say that she rivaled Sylvanas Windrunner's skill before she was taken by the Undead. It'll be nice to see her after a such long while."


End file.
